


Just Hearts and Walls of Art

by Ritzy_bird



Series: Jearmin Week 2019 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-10 13:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20136445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: Jearmin Week 2019 Day 2: Forbidden RelationshipFlip a coin, and do the chore you don't wanna do. That's the way it was between Jean and Armin for years, but one day Jean loses the coin toss. And he's gone.And he's not.





	Just Hearts and Walls of Art

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you laugh at my Wall Sina character tag. She has feelings, okay? This takes place somewhere around 2070.  
I was VERY late to finishing this and so as of posting, has not been edited and was completed on about 4 hours of sleep. You will find errors, but that just makes this baby that more SPECIAL! Will fix 'em in the morning.

"No no, I can't go do it, this is _watercolor_ 'beb I can't just leave for twenty minutes; It'll dry up!" Jean argued, gesturing dramatically with his paint brush.   
  
Armin glanced over with a smirk, sliding the glasses off his face, "Today's my one day off, gimme a break."  
  
"_Exactly_! So you should go out!"  
  
"I made dinner last night _and_ breakfast this morning, the least you could do is keep the fridge stocked, Jean!" Armin insisted, turning back to his laptop to continue working on his algorithm.   
  
"...Flip for it?" Jean whined, with a pout on his face that Armin wouldn't see.   
  
"This isn't a _chore_ Jean!" Armin laughed, refusing to look over at his husband.   
  
Jean smirked with triumph anyway, "Sina! Flip a coin."  
  
"Okay Jean. Flipping a coin." Sina, their automated assistant, replied over their home speakers.   
  
Armin's head whipped around to stare at Jean, and they were in a deadlock.   
  
"Heads!"   
"Tails!"  
  
"I flipped a coin, and I got heads." Sina's calm, feminine voice responded, much to the dismay of Jean.  
  
"_Dammit_." He hissed under his breath, leaving his paintbrush on his easel before walking out of the kitchen-dining room.   
  
"Bring back chicken!" Armin called out sweetly, though unable to hide the triumph in his voice as he'd gotten what he wanted despite Jean's attempt to weasel out of it.  
  
"Yeah, yeah! 'Love you!" There was humor in his voice, despite the loss. The coin toss was all but unnecessary in this day and age. However, like many old-fashioned customs, Jean adored the idea of it. Too bad it didn't always work in his favor.  
  
Armin settled back into his chair, "'Love you too!" 

"Someone is ringing the doorbell, would you like me to ask who it is?" 

"It's probably Jean, just open the door." Armin muttered back, frustratingly removing several lines of code. Tomorrow he'd have to bring this up at the meeting, let them know to start this program over _from scratch_. It wouldn't make the board happy but--

"Excuse me, is anyone home? Hello? This is the police!" The strong barking female voice startled Armin. 

Quickly, he composed himself and made his way through the house and towards the entryway. He made a mental note to look into getting a front camera for the house, so Sina wouldn't invite _absolute strangers in_ again.

"Yes? I'm sorry my Sina didn't announce herself when she opened the door." Armin apologized calmly, looking between the two officers on his porch.

"Are you Armin Arlert-Kirstein?" Their voice was low now, so much more so than before.

"Yeees, that's me. What do you need? I'm actually working right now." Technically a lie but, work was work whether he was getting paid or not.

The two officers glanced at each other briefly, a solemn sigh leaving one of them. "Sir, I'm so sorry to tell you this; Your husband was involved in a traffic accident."

Armin tilted his head, but quickly straightened his posture again. "Is he alright?"

"_No_ sir," The other officer answered, her voice more firm than her partner's. "Our condolences, for your loss."

Armin didn't move. Couldn't move. Refused to, even if he could. "Jean is...." His voice came out careful, almost monotone. "Dead." It was a declaration, not a question. There was no need to verify, not by the looks on the officers' faces. 

Jean was dead.

Armin loathed crying, but he understood why most people needed to do it. Only the morning after Jean's passing, and already a handful of his extended family were in his home. A rallying party, here to console him.

But he knew the truth; Everyone was here to console each other- _themselves_. Armin didn't judge or question them, allowing all into his home that morning with an offer of free breakfast. Albeit reheated from the day before, but no one minded. They weren't hungry, anyway.

Worst of all was Jean's mother, Layla. She'd _adored_ Jean always, as a mother should, and no matter how many times she'd been calmed down this morning she inevitably broke into tears again. 

Armin wasn't the best at consoling others, especially so now that the person who was the source of all their pain was Armin's own emotional rock. His go to for when things were too far wrong for him to fix, to make sense of. "I'm sorry, again, that I didn't call more last night. I can't," He shook his head gently, and reach forward to hold her hands in his. "Imagine, how it must have felt to wake up to."

Layla nodded raggedly from her sniffling, "Oh, don't apologize, d--" Her breath hitched, and she choked down a whimper. "_Dear_." She straightened as much as she could given her condition. "I know you must be so, so busy with... everything." 

The others looked about ready to leave, and Layla gave a meek smile to one of her brothers in silent agreement, or confirmation. Armin, too, would have to get ready for work soon. With only a few hours of sleep the night prior, he knew he was in for a rough day. Life had to go on, of course. 

"We've been discussing it and, we're thinking of having the service this Sunday." Layla let the smile die from her face, and more tears started to stream from her eyes. "I-I'll have Oliver come by before then and, _and_...." Voice strained, it was likely all she could do not to break apart another time. "And he can pick up the uhm, the paintings."

"Actually," Armin didn't personally like the idea of using some of Jean's most impressive pieces at his funeral and following wake, but that wasn't the real problem. "Could you hold it on next Wednesday instead? It's my only day off, you know. I can bring the artwork." He thought he was being careful, and considerate.

Layla's eyes widened, then narrowed, and she let out a shaky breath. Confusion clouded her gaze as she pulled her hands away from Armin slowly. "...Day off? Armin, dear, won't you take some personal time to...?"

Armin's mouth parted, hurt by words if only slightly. There was a knot in his throat that made it difficult to speak, but he knew he'd have to explain himself. "I... can't just stop working."

Sina blipped online, "Your contract with SurveyCED explicitly states that you are allowed two weeks personal leave without notice in the event of the following: Death of immediate family, loss of home, natural disasters class C or--"

"Enough, Sina." Armin ordered as gently as he could as not to make the situation more stressful. 

When his attention returned to Layla, he was stunned to see the way she looked at him. _Disappointment_. 

"You've _always_ been a working man, Armin," She began quietly, the disapproval clear in her voice. "And you supported our Jeany no matter _what_ he was going through but...." Her head shake said it all, and yet she continued. "How could you _ever_ choose your job over your husbands **funeral**?"

Armin stared, inhaled, exhaled. Quietly through his nose, slowly as not to make any noise, evenly so he wouldn't panic. Everyone was watching now, and he knew that he'd offended them. His family- Jean's very own blood. 

"Mother," He stressed, but spoke firmly and loud enough to be heard by them all. "I loved Jean. I love all of you. But I have to keep working. It's what Jean would want."

_Smack!_

Armin held in his gasp, and didn't bring his hand to his face to soothe the sting that resided in his cheek. He wanted to look at the wall, what with his head slightly turned from the assault. But he instead only shifted his eyes to stare at Layla.

"You do right by your husband _and_ this family and you will come to that funeral! So help me, _God_, your work can wait for _one_ day while I bury **my** son. If you couldn't be a good husband for Jeany while he lived the least you could do is play the part for once!" Layla's words were like an iron so hot that it was cold. They were honest, they were her truth, and now she'd gotten it out in the world for all to hear.

"Mo--... Mrs. Kirstein, _thank you_ for coming." Armin said quietly, turning away to go start on the dishes.

The moment Armin stepped foot into the SurveyCED building that afternoon, a place normally filled with infinite chatter and the chirping of electronic devices as hundreds of people worked together to science as they knew it through to the next century...? A new kind of silence was heard. 

Armin was one of their top employees, and he could have ran the place himself if he cared to. Everyone knew what had happened, and not a soul expect him to show up today. He paid no mind to the stares, he ignored the tensity in the elevator, he didn't hesitate to look his colleagues in the eye.

"Moblit, ho--...." Armin looked around for a moment, confused as to where half his team had gone. It wasn't like them to take Thursdays off. 

Rushing out of one of the private offices came their boss, Dr. Zoe, with their classic wide smile that was more comforting than Armin could admit given the circumstances. At least _one_ person had the nerve not to look at him like he'd grown a third eye. 

"Armin, Armin, _there_ you are! You're late!" They were coming in for a hug, however, which was most certainly abnormal. Armin stepped away, putting his hand up to keep them away. He thought they'd had an understanding about personal contact in _and_ out of the workplace.

"No I'm not-- Never mind. _Where's_ my team? Half the floor's cleared out, what, what happened?" 

Dr. Zoe's hands were shoved into their pocket, a thin lipped and wide eyed expression of worry on their face. "...To be honest?" They nodded their head forward at Armin. "No one thought you were coming in today so, most of who's not here right now took the day off."

Armin swallowed, biting down the appalled feeling, the _betrayal_. "Everyone knows how hard I've.... How much I care about this-- How did everyone _find out_? It's barely been a day." 

"The, well the e-mails! Everyone got one last night- And I'm sure some of us still read the morning news!" Dr. Zoe laughed, shaking their head and shrugging.

"_What_ e-mails--"

"Last night I suggested informing yours and Jean's distant friends and family of the news and your plans going forward. Your main research team as well as all relevant SurveyCED employees were informed of the news and your plans going forward; Just as you had agreed to, Armin." Sina's explanation came out rapidly from Armin's wristband.

Armin closed his eyes, shoulders stiff, an he breathed out of his nose heavily. "Sina," He opened his eyes again, eyes scanning the floor back to back as he counted the amount of empty seats. "Start a new e-mail to send to any absent members from my floor."

"Yes Armin. What would you like it to say?" 

"Oh there's really no need to do all that," Dr. Zoe crouched down slightly, their hands on their knees as they squinted at Armin's wristband. "Why don't you let Armin get to work, ah?"

"Explain to them, that it is _my_ husband that's dead and it's not any excuse for them to play hooky. They need to come in; If I'm here, _they're_ here!" It took all of him not to spit the words out, but the anger couldn't be contained. 

This was his life's work, this was what Armin had when there was nothing else _to _have. The uncomfortable tacky feeling in his armpits made it apparent to Armin that the stress was finally getting to him, after how hard he'd been trying to keep things together. 

"I _really_ don't think we need to--"

"Sent!"

"_Ohh_ okay." Dr. Zoe sighed in defeat. Their eyes were narrowed, and they'd sucked this lips all the way into their mouth.

The exchange hadn't dawned on Armin, as he was stuck to the place he was standing, unmovable. Eyes feeling strained, he couldn't decide if he needed more sleep or if, perhaps, they might just be dry. Was this a part of anger? The real, carnal kind that could twist him into knots from the outside and in?

"O-oh! Armin, sir, g-good morning!" The meek voice of Moblit, one of Armin's closest partners, broke his train of thought. 

"You're... here?" Armin's acknowledgement was quiet, surprised as he turned towards the elevator he'd just rode up on. 

"Of course! I just, uh," He glanced down at the bouquet of flowers in his hands, and Armin noticed that Moblit was out of breath. "Someone said you, _whew_, ended up coming into work today after all so I, _oh wow_, hold on just--!" He pressed the bouquet to his chest with one hand, leaning on one of his knees with the other.

"I went and got these for you-- and there's, already a card everyone's been signing today somewhere." He straightened back up, handing the bouquet over to Armin properly.

Armin knew he had to take them, because he understood what the gesture meant and the flowers were lovely, but....

"Oooh! Are those corn lilies?" Dr. Zoe interjected happily, "Those don't grow around here, do they?" They looked back to Armin, "Too cloudy and rainy all the time."

Taking a deep breath, Armin let his body relax as he took in the gestures made by both his colleagues. Dr. Zoe's pleasantries which no one else dared to give, and Moblit rushing to gift him with traditional sympathy flowers even though Armin wouldn't be looking at them for most of the day. It should have been, _must have_ been, touching. That's what it was supposed to be.

"...Thank you." Armin finally reached out and took the flowers into his hands, looking over the tiny white petals carefully. They'd be dead soon. Just for the moment, though, Armin moved his fingers through the flowers, admiring their beauty. If they'd carried their own unique aroma he might've appreciated that too, but to him... they just smelled like ordinary plants.

"We're very sorry for your loss, Armin." Moblit added quietly, marching off to his work station soon after. Smart. Armin was about to suggest he do just that. 

"He's right! But no one told _me_ about any card; I should go find that." Off went Dr. Zoe as well.

Everyone was so sorry... but it was just one person's fault.

"Sina? How much water do these lilies need again?"

The lilies had so far survived the week, but this was his first day off since Jean had died, so he hadn't the time to check the vase every day. They were looking a little... _rough_. 

"As I suggested four days ago: Cutting the bottom of the stems by one inch will preserve the life of your gladiolus bouquet." Sina wasn't programmed with alternative tones of voice, but Armin knew well enough when he was being nagged. 

"Armin, could I talk to you for a minute?" Sasha asked ever so politely as she walked into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. 

"I... can't really leave those people alone for too long, what is it?" Armin frowned slightly, looking around for the kitchen shears.

Sasha looked around at the boxes scattered around the table and counters, gently picking through a few of the ones she was closest to. "You're really... selling all of Jean's art supplies? _And_ his paintings?"

A wordless nod was the only response he gave her. It was all he felt was necessary.

"You... you can't _do_ this, Armin, I-I mean _Christ_ it's.... We buried him three days ago." Sasha was scratching at the counter top roughly, focusing her gaze on Armin now.

Shocked, Armin turned to give his full attention to her. Sasha was, without a doubt, the only reason Jean and Armin had truly met. One of their closest friends. Seeing all this might've been hard for her. The strangers in the house: All fans of Jean's work, eager to get their hands on one of his original works.

"Did you want any of it? You can take what you want, aside from the paintings... I can't give too many of those away for free. Jean might kill me!" Armin chuckled the last sentence, a sad smile on his face as he looked up at the only painting left in their kitchen-dining room: "Blue". It was some joke about some old poem about flowers and love. Armin never really got it.

"He said... this one always made him hungry. For some reason. That's why it's in here...." One of the few Armin wouldn't get rid of, though he figured that much was obvious to Sasha.

"_Yeah_, I know why he didn't like this one-- But you're not _listening_ to me, Armin. You _cannot_ just, just throw away everything of Jean's just because he's gone!" She slammed her hand down on the counter now, face stern as Armin had ever seen it. 

Armin's lips parted slightly, his eyebrows scrunching up. There was an uncomfortable prickling all over his back that quickly morphed into an ache. He let his hands hang at his side as if he were comfortable though, and tried to keep his facial expression under control as well. 

"I don't... need any of this. I don't _want_ it. And I'm not throwing it away I'm selling it to, to people who _loved_ his art. ...What exactly do you expect me to do with it all? I don't paint, and I can't just walk into his old gallery all the time just to remind myself of what I already know; Jean was an artist, and now he's dead."

Sasha's eyes widened as Armin finished, her jaw dropping and quivering like it was struggling to formulate speech. 

There was nothing Armin could do. He had people waiting in the gallery, and he had to start moving these boxes in there for anyone to pick through. Maybe the best thing to do was to let her get through her feelings, without his interruption. But these weren't her husband's things, they were _Armin's_. This wasn't her choice to make.

"You are... unbelievable." Sasha whispered, a sense of finality to her voice. 

Maybe she was hurt, and maybe she wouldn't forgive Armin for selling off so much of what many could consider "pieces" of Jean. But Armin was sure that this was what Jean wanted.

* * *

"_Oof_!" Jean collapsed onto the couch, tossing his keys towards the coffee table and missing entirely. The keys clanked to the floor, and Jean threw his head back with a groan while he beat a fist into one of the cushions.

"Rough day?" Armin was balancing two bowls in his arms, the two drinks in his hands making the walk over rather difficult. 

Tuesdays were always his night to make dinner, and french onion soup was _perfect_ for reheating constantly. Low maintenance dinners for the next week, just how Jean liked it.

Jean rubbed his face with both hands, then wiped them off on his shirt, wincing. His face was especially sweaty and oily today from his pitch meeting. "I don't even know anymore 'beb I can't even...! _Ugh_! They said no!"

Carefully crouching down, silently thanking Jean for making him practice his squats last summer, Armin slid their dinner onto the slate stone coffee table. "Just a 'no'? Not a 'yes but for free' or some 'exposure' line? _Where're the spoons...?_" 

"Mm, probably in your pocket. And yeah! They just, didn't want any of my paintings. At all! Talked for hours about the, the, _gala_ or whatever and whose art was getting rotated around. Of course, the one time I branch out into portraits all they wanna focus on is twentieth century geometric crap."

Armin didn't know much about the history of art outside of what Jean told him, but he did know that Jean was as indecisive about his own style to the point that it made getting his art out there that much more difficult. A "Jean of all trades" he'd referred to himself as ten too many times before. 

Knowing he wasn't finished, Armin placed the spoons, which yes, were in his pocket, into the bowls before plopping next to Jean on the couch. Perhaps he could've poured Jean a glass of wine instead of iced tea, as he always seemed to get pretty worked up after these meetings.

"I get that art's subjective and so the pricing's subjective too but, why's it so damn hard to just _sell_ this stuff! I mean come on!" Jean dramatically flung his hand upward, referring to the quartet of paintings above the entryway.

"You know what I should do?" A glimmer came to his eyes, a smirk replacing the grimace that was there beforehand.

Mouth full of soup, Armin just sat there with a raised eyebrow. If this was another silly bank robbing scheme he might just divorce him on the spot.

"I should _fake_ my **death**!" 

Divorce wouldn't be punishment enough for this man.

Armin quickly pulled the silverware from his mouth, "Excuse me!?"

"Listenlistenlisten!" Jean babbled out quickly, the smile on his face growing wider. "Think about how much _money_ we'd make! All the famous artists' stuff was worth _tons_ once they died." 

"What year are you living in? Did you re-watch 'Prison Break' without me...? You can't just _fake_ your death in this day a--"

Jean grabbed Armin's bowl and placed it back on the coffee table. Then he turned and leaned in, grabbing Armin's hands. "I could go in some _horrible_ boating accident on the sea- _ooh ooh_! During out _honeymoon_ on the beaches of Aruba!" 

Armin just stared at Jean, both eyebrows angled upward and mouth thinning gradually the more it went on.

"You'll have to work on your crying, _but_, we'd be rich! We could run off to some, chilly little cabin in the woods somewhere no one would ever find us, and--"

"_Hahaa_! _No!_ Jean no no _stop_ it!" Armin smacked Jean away, bringing a hand to his face to hide the redness spreading across it. 

Excitement dissipating, Jean leaned back with a sigh, "Yeaaaah, yeah. It'd be fun though." He gently pulled Armin's hand back down, taking in the rare treat of Armin's toothy smile. 

"I," Armin started, not attempting to hide his smile, but refusing to make eye contact. "Will make enough money to fuel _all_ your insane fantasies."

"Oh?" Jean pretended to be shocked. "Even the sexual ones?" 

_That_ earned him a good slap to the knee. 

It didn't hurt him. In fact, it made Jean snicker as he leaned in for a kiss on Armin's cheek, which wasn't as pink as he wanted it to be.

"You don't have to worry about money 'beb, honest...." He murmured into Armin's ear, a hand moving upward to run fingers though soft, golden hair. There was really no need to convince him, but Armin still appreciated the effort.

Armin exhaled and settled deeper into the embrace, more than happy to throw the night away to cuddling after one long, long week of working. 

"Too bad," He whispered into Jean's shoulder, a smirk of his own growing. "I'll beat you to a million dollars by 2070." The joke was met by a groan from Jean, who only pinched at Armin's knee in retaliation.

* * *

Now it all seemed so ridiculous, but after 3 weeks without Jean? Armin had realized the dangers of reminiscing. The house certainly looked emptier without Jean's paintings practically _plastered_ to the walls, but the ones that had truly mattered to Jean kept the place from _feeling_ empty. 

Armin caught himself wondering what Jean might want for dinner, and he nearly choked as his brain caught up with itself. 

"S-Sina, what should I have for dinner?" It was tentative, as even though Sina couldn't possibly know what Armin was thinking, he still felt the need to hide it from her.

"You have leftover root vegetables and a half eaten pork tenderloin left in the fridge. Or you could order in, I don't know. What would you like to eat, Armin?"

Useless.

"Ah... yeah just... just order me a pizza. The usual place. Usual order." Armin headed for the kitchen anyway. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sina, but he needed to see what groceries to buy and didn't feel like having Sina listing everything off for him.

"Your usual order, or Jean's usual order?" 

Armin's head snapped up at the ceiling, even though logically he knew that wasn't necessarily where Sina was. "_Mine_."

"Order placed!"

There was a time when Jean had owned and operated a Maria, who he'd insisted was far less fussy than Armin's Sina, but.... Part of moving in together meant they had to choose which AI they wanted to help manage their lives, and Sina was just better equipped for that. 

"Someone is ringing the doorbell, would--"

"_Hush_, Sina. I'll get it." Armin scoffed, turning right back around and towards the front door. It definitely wasn't going to be the pizza, and with any luck it wasn't one of his disgruntled, mourning relatives. They'd been leaving him voice-mails, which Armin was letting pile up.

It could have been a fan of Jean's. Ever since Armin had opened his home to let in potential buyers, a couple of art enthusiasts had gotten the wrong idea about the building's purpose. It was Armin's _home_, not an artistic memorial.

Unfortunately, upon opening the door he'd realized it wasn't any of those things. It was a _lawyer_. They had very short, neat, dirty blonde hair, a nice suit, cheap glasses, _and_ to top it all off: Shoes that were without a doubt far too expensive to be worn in a rainy city like this. 

"Good evening, are you Mr. Arlert-Kirstein?"

"Yes. I am. What do you want?" Armin was short and curt, holding the door open with his hand only halfway. 

"Oh good, I've been trying to contact you for a while now. I heard this was your only day off and decided to try again! I'm Zeke Fritz with Camel Auto, and I'm here to talk to you about the, _unfortunate_ passing of your husband, Jean--"

"I know my husband's name. _What_ do you want?" He didn't like that this person bothered to find out what Armin's _only_ day off was. 

"_Ahem_. May I come in?" They pulled a folder out from inside their suit jacket, and a pen.

"No."

"...I understand that, after we carried out our own private investigation into the accident, you personally refused to sign the settlement we offered you. Care to explain that?" 

Armin squeezed the door tighter. It was the balance needed to keep him from breathing too heavily or his tone becoming too aggressive.

"I didn't sign it because I deal with lawyers all the time at work. I don't want your money, and I'm not signing any contracts that keep me from talking about _how_ my--.... _How_ my husband died." Armin swallowed hard and readjusted, straightening up more. 

Zeke nodded gently, flipping open the folder and offering it with the pen, "Yes, we thought that _might_ be the case. This here is just an agreement that you won't press charges against Camel Auto, our partners, affiliates, _or_ Ms. Carolina who was in one of our vehicles when she was involved in the crash. It would also mean you agree that the malfunction in her self-driving function _was_ in fact, a malfunction and nothing... malicious or negligent."

Armin coughed, looking away towards the quiet street beyond his lawn. It didn't bother him that Mina Carolina had survived after her car plowed through a red light and straight into Jean, killing him _instantly_. Or that their shared car's AI features couldn't catch the moving car in time to _do_ something about it. Having to sign away his right to be mad about it, though? How could Armin not be frustrated.

"Machines make mistakes." Armin returned his gaze to Zeke, a calmness coming over him. "I have to explain that a million times to the lawyers that come knocking at work, too. They make mistakes, just like humans. What happened was... an accident. It's _no one's_ fault." Except one.

"Hmmm, yes. You work with that SurveyCED, yes? Trying to talk to aliens probably does invite a lot of legal issues, hm? Now, we wouldn't want _you_ to make a mistake later on that we'd all regret; So if you could _just_ sign these--"

"They're not-- _Actually_? Schedule a meeting with my company lawyer, Mikasa Ackerman, and handle it _that way_." Armin sneered, closing the door as fast as he could without slamming it. 

He really didn't like lawyers. And he didn't like discussing how much or how little of Jean's death he could mention in public. And it wasn't _fair_ to be interrupted on his one day off which would _forever_ be a reminder of the day Jean had _died_.

* * *

Another night of pushing the limits of the machines: Drawn out, overworked, unsuccessful, a drain of the resources, and no overtime. This would always be Armin's passion project, his life's dream! But he couldn't pretend that sometimes, the cost of progress could leave him in a bad mood. 

There wouldn't be time for dinner tonight, but Armin would _not_ go to bed without brushing his teeth first. He was so tired as he dragged his feet into the bathroom that he hadn't even noticed the light was already on. Or--

"Late night?"  
"_Ah_!" Armin spun around, unprepared for the greeting by his fiance who was just... sitting in the tub.

"Heheh, sorry 'beb I didn't mean to scare you. But uh," Jean looked into the tub water, a crooked frown on his face, "I kinda... waited here for ya' all night. The bubbles are gone. My fingers are raisins. And I'm cold."

The frown on his face was cute, and Armin wanted to smile, but all he could do was frown. 

"Well, _uhhf_, get out of the tub then! How long have you been in there? I... I'm sorry 'hon I just had this, this one problem we had to fix and...." The rambling died off as he noticed the pout on Jean's face, which was of course, a mix of genuine and dramatic flare. 

"Get in here an' keep me warm." He whispered playfully, bringing his knees up to his chest to make enough room for the both of them to sit in. 

A wrinkled smile formed on Armin's tired face, and the rest of his demeanor softened as he looked around their bathroom. Two large candles were lit for what had to have been at least three hours, and there were artificial red rose petals scattered all over the floor. 

"Have you... really been in here all night?" Armin gasped, bringing a hand up to cover his mouth.

Sina chimed into the conversation, all too ready to give an exact answer; "I can confirm that there has been no movement within the house outside of the bathroom for the past four hours, thirteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds. Twenty-three seconds. Twenty-four--"

"Hahaha! Hhuhehhahahe_ha_!" Jean gripped the sides of the tub as he threw his head back in laughter. Armin looked around, confused as to why Sina was _malfunctioning_. 

"I, I asked her to-- _pfftchhfff_!"

"Thirty-three seconds. Thirty-four seconds."

"I asked her to, _mmmffhh_, keep counting if we ever asked what time it was!" Jean finished with a wheeze, sliding further down into the tub as his face went red and his eyes watered. 

"Fifty-one seconds. Fifty-two seconds. Fifty--"

"Sina, _stop_." Armin shook his head. How on Earth did he agree to an engagement with this _fool_? Still, Jean was _his_ fool. 

While Jean still chuckled away, likely only so much so from the cold and the tired, Armin began to strip down. His legs hurt pretty bad, and his knees _probably_ couldn't take whatever shenanigans Jean had planned, but... he couldn't resist. Not when Jean had waited here all night, not when he looked so damn joyous when Armin had finally shown up. 

"You know this isn't really my... _thing._" Armin said shyly, dipping one of his legs into the tub despite the chill.

Jean choked down his laughter as he realized what Armin was doing, a pink starting to come to his face as he took in the whole of Armin's bare, _exhausted_ body.

"A-aw, Armin, _baby_, you don't... have to...." Jean trailed off as Armin committed himself to getting all the way in. 

He shivered and bit his lip, shaking his head rapidly, then wrapped his arms around his knees. "S-S-Sina, drain the tub, a-and start running more water. 'Hundred and two degrees, p-please!" 

"Okay!"

Jean immediately tried to get out upon hearing the shakiness of his lover's voice, but Armin grabbed Jean's ankle before he could step out. 

"Oh, Armin c'mon! I was just joking around with you, I-I'm exhausted too--"

"_Wow_, it really does look bigger from down here." Armin whispered, a shameless lust in his eyes.

Jean's mouth parted, "Wha-.... _AW_ jeez, _'beb_, y-you're killing me." He very quickly sat back in the tub, cold water splashing all around as he did so.

"'Love you, too." Armin mumbled, before holding his breath and going all the way under.

* * *

"Welcome home, Armin. You have 3 unread voice mails. Would you like to hear them?"

"Hello Sina, and... sure, go ahead." His day at work today had reminded him of that night with Jean, but he had no interest in taking a bath tonight. 

"Your first message is from: Marco Bott.  
_Hey Armin, look, I know you only really take Wednesday's off, but, the Trost Museum of History is opening that art exhibit next Saturday. The one dedicated to Jean...? Some of those paintings you sold off are, hehmm, they're actually being donated to it. Can you believe that? Buying someone's art for so much money only to donate it a year later in the artist's name? I... I think Jean would find it stupid, really. He knows how much good art costs-- Hell, I do too! ...What I'm trying to say is, I know you couldn't make the funeral so... I just thought you might want to come remember him some place a lot happier than that. Either way, uhh, call me._"

Armin's jaw was tense, but he just shook his head, "Okay, next." 

He didn't want to hear hundreds of strangers tell him how moved they were by Jean's art. Most of them would be telling the truth, but too late for it to matter. Jean always wanted recognition, and he was only getting the greatest impact of it now that he was dead. Just like he always said it would happen....

"Your next message is from: Ymir Lenz.  
_Okay, okay, so. Here's the thing; I'm not gonna fight you for it but you really should just start taking Thursdays off. Seriously. You have no idea how much it's probably doing to ya' to have the only day off _also_ be the day your husband died. And it's been what? A year? And eeeevery Thursday everyone comes in worrying you're gonna snap and fire somebody. Not that you can actually do that, but you're the kid wonder. If you sucked boss man's cock I think he'd sign over the whole damn business to you. Also, I really need to start taking Wednesdays off instead of Thursdays so, swap with me. Or don't! But, let's be real here, _sir_. You were staring at the picture on your desk really long yesterday, and we all think you need to take a break. B-but don't quote me on that? Because no one else but me will actually admit it. See ya Friday!_"

"Sina, make a note; Ymir gets Wednesdays off, Thomas gets Thursdays off." He knew, if he thought about it, that Ymir didn't actually give a damn about which days she got off. Then again, she probably knew she wasn't being clever anyway.

"I've saved your note. Will you tell me when you would like to be reminded? I can do so every five minutes if you'd like."

Armin stopped walking, groaning. "Tomorrow morning. Next message." 

Once in the privacy of his bathroom, he peeled off all his clothes, slowly. There was a new type of ache in his body, and he gathered it was from getting older. His job didn't involve much physical exercise, and it was likely catching up with him.

"Your next message is from: Eren Yeager.  
_I've been trying to call you all day! Don't you get a lunch? I'm not gonna send you e-mails and wait for you, or your secretary, or lab tech or _whoever_ to answer it. You know I don't do well with writing, okay? So stop dodging my calls! You need to patch things up with Jean's mom, okay? Okay I said it. And that's just the start of the issues, alright? You need to stop slaving away trying to break the fifth dimension and _just_ talk to the people in your actual God damn life! And just, _uuuhrrgg_! I hate doing this over the phone. Okay, we need to talk face to face! Love you, bye._"

Armin stared into his own reflection, his electronic toothbrush buzzing away in tune with the own buzz happening within his head. His muscles were sore, but he could stand there forever. Numbed to the pain with nothing but the buzzing and his own stare to keep him from losing it. 

"That was your last message. Would you like to save any?" 

When the buzzin stopped, Armin immediately took the toothbrush from his mouth and spat into the sink with far more force than was necessary. "Delete all messages!"

"Okay!"

The rest of his nightly routine went by like, a play. Armin had felt this sensation once before; The fuzzy feeling of being zoned out, but his eyes intensely focused on everything in front of him. Every action clear as crystal, yet his body experienced the sensations _slower_. 

Armin had gotten his wisdom teeth removed once, and if he could compare this current feeling to anything it would definitely been to the monstrous high he'd gotten for the surgery. Minus the pleasant thoughts and weightlessness, though. 

If ever there was a god, it gave Armin a slice of peace once he finally climbed into bed. Thunder boomed, and down came a little drizzle of rain outside. Usually, the sound of rain calmed him down, _focused_ him. Kept him from living in his head forever.

However even with the usual sign of relaxation, Armin needed more. He needed better, he needed--....

"Sina," Armin mumbled, eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. 

"Yes, Armin, what can I help with?"

"Do you... could you...?" The whispers broke apart before really starting, and the rain certainly didn't help with that. 

"What was that? You'll have to speak up so I can hear what you need help with."

"Ah... is there any way you can... _use Jean's voice_...?" As soon as he'd said it, he felt a crushing pain in his chest. It beat down on him, like the thunder, and all he wanted to do was be unconscious. 

"Unfortunately, that would be illegal and publicly deemed unethical."

Nodding, Armin closed his eyes, "Never mind, then...." 

One of his hands seemed to wander under the covers without him thinking about it much. Because of course, all he was thinking about now was Jean. Jean. Jean. 

"_Jean._..!"

* * *

"Tell me, what can I do to keep you here with us, at SurveyCED? Everyone here knows you're a _bright_ young man, and you have other options to continue your work. What'll it take to keep you _here_?"

"Oh. Is that what this is about?" Armin relaxed and let his folded hands drop down to rest on the seat cushion he was in. 

"Well... yes. Were you worried you were in trouble?"

Armin looked up at his boss, Erwin Smith, the man who'd given him his unpaid internship here _years_ ago. He could never say until today that the man _was_ capable of nervousness. Though he had every right to be; Armin was intelligent, hard working, dedicated, and held no sense of loyalty to any particular company or brand. 

"No, but, you haven't ever called me to your office in private before. I thought you were going to let me go, maybe." For the lack of loyalty, that is. 

"I won't lie, sir, I have been approached by other companies. Who doesn't want to travel through the next dimension and pop out on there other side of the universe?" He stifled the small laugh in his throat, knowing that the subject was _immensely_ important to this company.

Erwin folded his hands together on his desk, "Yes, so... what will it take? Name your price, we can double _anything_ another company offers you. I'll remind you that we _are_ privately owned, so you have far less red tape as our national competitor: Garris INC. _And_ you can speak with and hire on whoever you'd like without any personal sacrifices. The MP _cannot_ provide that. Just in case you wanted to discuss your options again."

Armin really didn't care about _any_ of that, but he could understand why anyone would assume it would. Money _was_ important, but it wasn't really the biggest concern. Armin had made enough here in the past handful of years that, if used sparingly, could get him through a few years unemployed. 

"Surely there's something you want that we can give you?" Erwin's eyebrows furrowed, the determination in his voice taking over the faux corporate courtesy tone.

The more the thought about it, the less anything seemed all that special. 

"Alarm for five-thirty P.M.: Meet Jean at The Purple Duck. You're late." 

Slapping his hand over his wristband, eyes wide, Armin finally realized what he wanted. 

"Oh, I shouldn't keep you waiting. We can continue this discussion tomorrow--"

"No no, I... I think I know what I want." Armin interrupted, a smile creeping onto his face as his brain started working towards the obvious. 

Jean was his new boyfriend, and one of those hopeless romantic, starving artist, "old souls". He'd already payed his dues, impressing Armin with a beautiful painting of the ocean. And a nice package to boot _but_!

He could've asked for Jean's art to be put in any museum, or have any celebrity name visit his art studio, or have his school debts paid off, or any _number_ of things to push his career into first gear. But how would that be impressive...? How would it be special? 

Armin always kicked himself for not quite understanding how to express his affections towards Jean, as his talent with science wasn't traditionally romantic. But _maybe_....

"My boyfriend... he really, _really_ likes old movies and plays, but they stopped showing one he's always wanted to see. Your husband works in entertainment, right?" Armin suggested, doing all he could to keep his smile from growing. He knew he could get this, but he didn't want to appear cocky.

"Yes.... You just want an old play brought back to the stage?" Erwin didn't seem to buy it. Maybe he thought Armin was pulling his leg.

"I mean, tickets too. But yes. Yes please." Armin now had to suck in his bottom lip to keep his face under control. 

"Tickets to see a retired play, live... and you'll sign a contract with SurveyCED until the bulk of your research is completed?" 

Armin gave a single, forceful nod. 

"Okay, which show?" With every blink, Erwin became visibly less tense. Although, having to arrange an authentic, Broadway quality play together would surely be a nightmare for his husband. 

Letting the toothy grin loose, Armin blurt out the only possible answer that he knew would blow Jean out of the water, "Moulin Rouge!"

* * *

It had been just about 3 years now, since Jean died. Armin looked forward to these days off, even if that meant being forced to listen to Sina's attempted assistance. 

"Good morning, Armin. You have seventeen voice mails, which is one more than you had before bed last night. Would you like to hear them?" They were piling up, weren't they? Not that they usually said anything he hadn't heard before.

"Mmm... sure, let's clear some of 'em up." 

Armin was groggy, and he knew today would be a toast with jam kind of day. No eggs, no chicken sausage, and _definitely_ no fresh squeezed lemon juice. He'd invest in cereal, but he wasn't too big on milk, _or_ dried shrapnel tearing up his gums.

"Your first message is from: Eren Yeager.  
_Dammit Armin answer the damn _phone_!_"

"Delete." 

"Your next message is from: Layla Kirstein  
_I just don't understand how you've _never_ visited Jeany's grave even_\--"

"Delete."

"Your next message is from: Annie Leonhart  
_Hello, this is Annie Leonhart. I hope you'll reconsider selling me the 'The Struggle', I think it's one of Jean's most unique pieces._"

"Delete."

"Your next message is fr--"

"_Sina_ just, read the messages." Armin tried to rub the sleepiness from his eyes, debating whether or not to brew some tea. Then the thought about having to chill it afterwards and, _yeah no_. He'd deal with the strain until his toast kicked in.

"Okay!  
_You need to call me._"

"Oh _shit._" That was Erwin. That was Armin's boss. "Sina! Wh-when was that message left?" He lifted his wristband towards his face, swiping on its thin surface to see all his missed calls. There were _a lot_. 

"Your last message was left for you last Saturday at one-thirteen A.M. shortly after your working shift ended. I informed you of the message later that morning, but you did not care."

Now that was just fantastic news. 

"Call Erwin Smith," Armin was _wide_ awake now, the hairs on his back prickling. "Actually wait-- How many of my unread messages are from Erwin?" 

"Four!"

"_Christ_, okay! Delete all messages from Erwin. Then you can call Erwin! Do that now." He rubbed his index fingers against his temples in the hopes it would free him of the oncoming headache. 

"_Hello, this is Erwin Smith speaking._" He didn't sound mad, but he _never_ sounded mad. That's what had an entire company terrified to be alone in a room with him. No one could ever predict if it would be a good or bad thing.

"Erwin! Yes, hi. Hello. It's me. Armin. I did not get _any_ of your calls or messages until just now, I'm so, _so_ sorry about that. You're usually in the building, I didn't think you'd even need me on your business trip." 

"Untrue; Each call made by your contact: Erwin Smith, went thr--"

"_AND_ I was just hoping nothing was going on with the funding!" Armin got up and rushed to the backyard, where Sina's voice wouldn't carry. "I only listened to your earliest message so I'm not sure what this is about."

"_That's_ actually_ just what I wanted to talk to you about. How much you've been working, that is._"

Armin blinked, leaned his back on the siding of the house, and went over in his mind if he'd done anything abnormal at work. He couldn't think of anything at all- He'd worked just as hard last week as he had every week since he started his internship over a decade ago. No more, no less.

"I'm, I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you mean...."

"_...We've discussed a lot of things during this trip, and the board and I have decided that from now on, all employees must take mandatory vacation days. To keep anyone from overworking themselves simply because they can. That includes you. So think about some days you might want off, or even just one extra day off a week. Or more, it's entirely up to_\--"

"N-no you don't... you don't actually mean that, do you?" He could feel his hands begin to shake, yet his feet wouldn't budge at all. 

"No one and I mean _no one_ has worked as hard as I have to get this project to work a-and now you just want to slow down all our progress? No. No! This isn't in our c-contract I won't.... _I can't do that_." The end was barely a whisper, and Armin was squeezing his own arm to tight he thought he might even cut off circulation.

"_Armin, I know how hard you've worked on it. Which is _why_ we're doing this. Not just for you, it _is_ for everyone. But at some point, throwing yourself into the same problem without stopping will eventually get to you. Taking a step back can be a tremendous help, which you haven't done in a very, very long time. This is a good thing, and it' final. Have a good day._"

The call ended, and Armin was left there biting at the insides of his mouth. He needed something else to think about, to give him focus. As if they'd now had minds of their own, Armin's legs took him back into the house and into the living room. 

Armin sat on the couch and gripped the cushions, "S-Sina... keep playing my messages. Please."

"Of course, Armin.  
_Hello there Armin, this is Ilse Langnar again with the Reiss Arts and History department. Now I know that you've never revealed it to the public, but we have a collector of rare paintings putting together an exhibit called 'Endlings' which exclusively features unfinished pieces of famous artists. Do you still have Jean's last piece that he was working on? We would be incredibly grateful for even a _picture_ of it for them to include in their collection. Call us back soon!_"

"Delete." Just more people looking to capitalize on Jean's death.

"_Armin, it's Marco again. I was going to ask if you wanted anything special, for your tenth anniversary with Jean in a couple months, but.... You know, we keep trying, and you're just not interested in anything to do with Jean, not unless it's on a Wednesday. I understood in the beginning, okay? Jean told me everything. You wanted to mourn the way you wanted to. ...But it's been years now, Armin. Years. You have to let somebody in-- Hehh, __and on a day other than Wednesday. Oh, and if you change your mind about me making something for your anniversary...? Send me an e-mail. It'll be on me._"

"...Delete."

"_For fuck's sake Armin if you don't answ_\--"

"Delete." Eren really did have a way with poetry. "Send a message to Eren; Tell him if he wants to talk, we can do it today. Here. I'll probably put him to work moving furniture though."

Outside of work, Eren was Armin's oldest friend. Or something like that, anyway. Friends were always difficult for Armin to come by. Something about growing up makes people drift apart, but, that's not a fair assessment to make. Maybe there is such a thing as too much of one person.

Catching up with a day of cleaning around Armin's house just _wasn't_ what Eren was looking for. And part of Armin knew that, yet, he let Eren in anyway. 

"...Okay, _stop_!" Eren barked, nearly causing Armin to drop the can of Pledge he'd been using almost religiously throughout the afternoon.

"What? What is it you need to talk about?" Armin sighed, setting the can down on the entertainment center.

Eren squinted, eyes narrowed and piercing as his jaw clenched. The one grey eye in his heterochromia pair was always the one Armin focused on. Something about the less striking color didn't intimidate him as much. Not that it mattered much now. 

"After all this time _avoiding_ me and you just... invite me over to _clean your house_?" Eren jeered, arms now crossed and back perfectly straight. 

"...What did you _want_ to happen, Eren? Would you rather go out for lunch or--"

"_Lunch_!?" Eren scoffed, shaking his head. "Wh-what is _wrong_ with you? No, seriously, what the hell is going on in that head of yours, huh!?" Despite the snappy attitude, Armin had remembered Eren's tough love. It wasn't always appreciated, but he could always trust Eren to be honest if nothing else.

"I thought, after this long... no one would be picking _fights_ with me anymore." Armin spoke loud enough for Eren to hear, but kept his voice low as possible. There was nothing in it for him to take the bait that Eren never quite realized he always laid out for people.

"Fights? _Armin_, you didn't show up to your own husband's funeral."

"I--"

"And _don't_ pretend like you would've gone if it had been on a Wednesday. You didn't want to go, and according to Layla, you've never even visited his grave. What gives? What's going _on _with you, Armin!? No one knows anything! So instead of inviting me over for _cleaning_ why don't you actually _talk. To. Me._"

The initial accusation left Armin's heart wrung, but he just couldn't put up with it. The back and forth tearing at his body, the pressure in the back of his eyes, the buzzing in his brain-- It was all too much work. 

"...You all act like you knew Jean _so_ well," Armin began, trying as best he could to keep his throat from shaking. There was uncertainty, in when he thought to invite Eren over. He knew Eren was volatile, he'd just _hoped_ he would be more generous in his assumptions. 

"He never even _wanted_ a funeral." It was something the two of them had shared; Their idea of dying in silence. "He never wanted a, a big show of it all! He didn't want me to hoard all his paintings and _cry_ over them all the time, he... he wanted us to just _love him _ and _move on_! I'm the _only_ one who tried to do that, alright? Does that... satisfy you at all?"

Eren's nostrils flared, and he took a step forward, an accusing finger pointed over at him. "A show!? Maybe if you'd actually been there you'd know that's not what it was _at all_! It was all of his friends, and his family, and everyone he ever cared about gathered around to, you know, _send him off_. Everyone _except_ you!"

Armin only shook his head, taking the occasional glance at the half-swept wood floors. "You... you didn't _know_ him. Or what he wanted. I let _all of you_ treat him however you wanted after he left and... all you ever did to _me_ was tell me how I was supposed to act!"

There was an itch in Armin's hands and a tug in his jaw. It was anger, and it was spread through his bones like a terrible, internal rash. "I was _respectful_! You just couldn't, couldn't let me be upset in a quiet way, could you? I let you all blow up and melt down b-but you couldn't just--"

"Couldn't just _what_, huh?" Eren mocked, tilting his head to the side for a second. "You didn't go to therapy, you didn't take time off, you didn't come to _any_ of his memorials or his art exhibits or _literally anything_!"

Armin took a deep breath, "None of that even **mattered** to him! What's the point in people caring about you if they only show it after you're gone!? I-I'm no stranger to sudden _deaths_, Eren, you know that! You don't get on my case for how I acted when my parents died!"

"This is _not_ about your parents! This is about **you**!" Eren shot back, getting more frustrated.

"I gave Jean _everything_, all the time! A-and he did the same for me, okay? I'm the same person you knew, th-that you all _saw_ Jean marry! Why am _I _the one who has to be the problem? Just because I deal with things differently than the rest of you?" 

Eren groaned, bringing his hands up to his head and tugging at the short tufts of hair. "_Rrrhg_ you're so, God damn _ridiculous_! You're supposed to do all those things so that everyone _else_ is okay, too! You idiot! What kind of genius are you!? And what do you think's gonna happen when you finally finish that fucking project anyway, huh? Who _exactly_ are you going to spend your time with once you get your Novel Prize?"

The idea that Armin only cared to do his work for some kind of _prize_ was... _infuriating _beyond what Armin could understand at the time. 

"You think I worked so hard, for a _prize_? For _recognition_!? I... _I_.... That I wh-what!? Abandoned Jean at home like some p-puppy I didn't want!? Do you even hear yourself!?" Armin shouted, his hands balled into fists, gripping onto his pant legs tightly to keep still.

He expected Eren to keep going, to throw his hands up in emotion and continue shouting at him for things he didn't want to understand any other way than he'd known them. But... he didn't.

"Something is _wrong_ with you, and everyone is **sick** of trying to help you." His voice was low, almost calm. 

Armin didn't think anything else could shock him, or hurt him, but as he watched Eren turn around? His body was all in knots, rooted to the spot as it forced Armin to watch his old friend give up with barely any fight. Maybe he had changed in the past few years...? But he wouldn't have noticed that, no. No not if Eren had just let him feel things the way he wanted to.

But Eren was still walking away, and Armin... did nothing to stop him.

Maybe tomorrow, or another day, things would be back to normal. That's what Armin kept repeating in his head throughout the rest of the day, because he had to. Even if deep down he knew it wasn't true.

One day, he could go back to working as much as he wants. One day, he could talk with Eren again like friends should. One day, when people wanted to talk about Jean's art, it wouldn't be about money or superficial posthumous appreciation.

Though it wouldn't have to be "one day" if... if _one_ person, hadn't ruined everything. 

"Sina...." Armin breathed out, hunched over the bathroom sink, clutching at the counter with an iron tight grip. 

"Yes, Armin?"

"_Si... na_.... why?"

"Why what, Armin?"

Armin's strained, burning eyes darted back and forth around the room, wishing desperately there was any one thing he could focus on when talking to her. 

"Why... _why this_? Just.... **why**!? Wh-why!? Why is it, it like _this_!?" Armin scratched at the counters, dissatisfied when no sensation came with it. No scraping, or splitting of his own nails. Just the smooth glide across the sealed stone. 

"Machines make mistakes. We make mistakes, just like humans do."

Armin nodded rigidly.

"I made a mistake, Armin. I'm sorry."

Another nod.

"**I should have called tails**."  
"_Yes!_" Armin surprised himself at how loud and how angrily he'd shouted, glaring around at every object as if the very house itself had killed Jean. 

"I _always_ pick heads! Always! Why couldn't you just _let_ Jean _have it_!? He didn't want to go! He _couldn't_ go! Why would you make him _do that_!? _Why!?_" Armin's vision was fuzzy, and he let his body take him through the house, shouting at Sina the entire time.

"Jean loved you, Armin, he would have gone anyway."

"_Shut up_! Just _stop_! You don't know that! _You don't know anything_!" 

He hadn't realized his body take him into the darkness of his bedroom, but when his body finally hit the mattress? 

Armin cried. 

"**Jean**, I...! _Ahhewwwhh! J-__JEAN_** come **_**baa-ack**! Ple-aahh-- ahh! _God _, no, nonono no, fuck_, why, _just come home_!" 

The tears were burning, they were burning and they stung and his head was on _fire_ and his chest was being crushed, _**crushed,** broken_ into a dozen tiny pieces.

"Should I call you an ambulance, Armin?"

He wanted to pull at his hair, harder, harder, _harder_ until he could hear the very pulling, snap, and tearing of his thin locks, but he wouldn't, couldn't. 

"**Sina**, shut down!" He screamed, not shouted but _screamed, _and he screamed it so hard his throat strained, it felt like it was being stretched and torn apart.

Nothing was right, nothing was _right_, and it was all wrong and all his fault and everything Jean told him would be fine-- _Everything Jean told him_, none of it mattered. **None of it**. Yet all he wanted from the bottom of his soul was **Jean**.

"_Armin_."

Still.

Like a fawn huddled in the road, Armin was frozen, fear paralyzing all of him but the wet hiccups that shook his entire body each time. Wide eyed, he stared ahead, flat as he could be when he was all curled up the way he was.

An illusion. A hallucination. A dream. A wish....

Slowly, like an injured animal, Armin pushed himself upward with his arms, if not to breathe better, but to get a better look across the room. 

Underneath Jean's favorite painting, "The Struggle", was Jean himself. Unclear, a still image. A _mirage_....

"_I'm here_."

Armin's eyes went wide, and he straightened up, trying his best now to regulate his breathing. And all he could do was stare, and stare.

And stare.

Stare.

Stare.

  
Stare.   
Stare.   
Stare.   
Stare.   
Stare.   
Stare.

Staring.

"Sina..." Armin mumbled, voice hoarse and strange from his stuffy nose. "Sina, start up."

"Yes, Armin?"

"...Send a message into work for tomorrow. I'm taking the day off."

* * *

"Owwh! _Fuck_ me!" Jean hissed, dropping his palette and mixing spatula. "_Oooh _holy _fuck_! Armin!" He called in a panic, gripping his now injured hand with his unscathed one. 

"What is it-- Oh my _god_! Jean what happened!? Are you alright!?" His husband came rushing in only to rush right back out. Armin soon returned though, a large towel in hand.

They practically collided into each other, one trying to bring the towel to the wound and the other on its way to tackle said towel with the wound. Armin hugged Jean to him, and they both applied an immense amount of pressure down on Jean's toweled wrist.

Jean looked up to meet Armin's worried gaze, and he did his best to get his own expressions under control. "I-I'm fine, I'm sorry for yelling it just... spooked me."

"Sp-spook...? Hahaha!" Armin's fear seemed to melt right off, and he looked over Jean's shoulder to examine the disaster of a work station.

Jean tried to turn, too, but he couldn't arch his neck enough to see. 

"I was trying to mix a couple paints together and, I don't know? The spatula just kind of, got stuck, and I must've pressed it too hard because it just went _flying_ off my palette after that and, and--"

"Mhmm, mhmm," Armin soothed, bringing the hand that had embraced Jean upward. He started running his fingers though Jean's messy hair, gentle and slow. "You need to buy new spatulas."

Jean frowned, looking down at the messy towel in defeat. The throbbing in his arm was slowly fading, but he didn't want to risk taking the towel off now. "I think I can manage to stab myself just fine either way, _but_...."

Armin bit a laugh down, giving Jean a light peck on the forehead. "It's good you weren't nearly finished though, right? At least... I don't think so?" He leaned back and to the side in exaggeration, as if inspecting a major car wreck.

Too tempted not to look, Jean shimmied himself in a full rotation, and went wide eyed when he what had become of his poor canvas.

Blood has sprayed _all over it_, and the palette must have fallen onto the canvas for at least a moment, as there were large, messy splotches of color slapped on near the bottom.

An idea sprung in his head, and he actually tugged away at his cotton prison for a moment before realizing what he was doing. "Ooh, my bad. Heh heh!"

Armin used both hands to press the towel downward, a blank, calculating face on. "What is it...?" He wasn't much of an artist, but as a fellow visionary, he could recognize the look on Jean's face. Understand the desire Jean now had to get straight back to painting.

"How many artists have used _blood_ in their art?" Jean asked it as if it were normal. As if he were questioning the grocery list.

Armin's face twisted into discomfort, and back came the worry. "Uhhh...?"

"It is unknown how many artists over the course of history have used blood in their artwork. However if you'd like to be featured in the Wikipedia article, only twelve renowned art pieces are known to have used human blood."

Both Jean and Armin grimaced, looking up at the ceiling. 

"Thanks, Sina...!" Jean laughed nervously, before glancing back at his violated art piece. "I guess it would be kinda creepy, huh?"

Armin nodded quickly, expression unchanged. "Yeah, no. You don't want that to be your legacy."

Jean formed his lips into a thing pout, nodding gently. "Yea. Yea. Okay true. _But_," He looked back to Armin, a hopeful yet awkward half smile on his face. "What if we just keep it in the house?"

Armin closed his eyes, sighing, "You're _still_ bleeding, and you're worried about turning that dirty canvas into a conversation piece?"

Jean went wide eyed, "Oohhh! That's a great idea! For for, like dinner parties and stuff, right? That would be--"

"_Terrible_!" Armin scoffed, shaking his head. "If we keep it, we keep it in the bedroom, okay? Somewhere no one will see it and, question if you're a serial killer."

Jean pouted again, but ultimately leaned back in towards Armin. "Mm... you're good at compromise."

"Mhmm.... So long as you don't ever make another one." Armin chuckled, holding Jean's injured arm tighter.

"May I ask, why is Jean bleeding? Shall I call an ambulance?"

Jean and Armin looked at each other. They both tried to hold in their laughter, but with shakes and sniffles, it soon erupted from them both.

* * *

To say things were back to normal would be a cruel lie, but Armin was working on finding his... "new" normal, so to speak. 

"Sina, tell Jean that I'll be home soon."

"Armin, Jean has been dead for over three years now."

Humming gently, Armin just smiled. Sina didn't know, how could she? 

"Just... let the house know I'll be home soon."

"Yes Armin. Did you remember to pick up your prescription today?"

Ever since that night a few months ago, Armin knew he had to assure himself that he hadn't simply dreamed Jean's ghost up in a low moment of sadness and regret. He never wanted to feel like that again, though he knew it was possible, even after seeking professional assistance. 

There were nights where Armin never felt Jean's presence at home, and sometimes he didn't feel it for over a week. But it didn't matter to Armin, and he was sure it didn't matter to Jean. They weren't _together_ again, but, they still had their connection.

It was strongest in his sleep, though Armin preferred the less intense, brief moments they shared when Armin was awake. At least then, he knew it was real. Jean never spoke much now either, but it didn't matter. Armin was _happy _with just this.

"Jean?" Armin always had the sneaking worry that he might even up, "spooking" his dead lover somehow, as if Armin were the disappearing and reappearing ghost. Tonight, he didn't seem to be home.

Part of him sensed that Jean was appearing less and less frequently as the weeks went on, and he wondered if it was because Jean felt he wasn't needed now. After all, the night he'd finally appeared was the lowest Armin had been since meeting him.

No matter. Armin would see him again, he knew he would. "Alright... goodnight, Jean." He sighed into the air, resigning to the fact that Jean couldn't just come on command whenever Armin needed him. That wasn't how it worked when Jean was alive, either. It would be unfair to expect it now.

Slipping into bed at night now was _so much different_ than it had ever been. Armin would stare at Jean's side of the bed now, arm reached out to where he used to hold Jean's hand.... 

"I'll make this easier, I promise." He whispered as his eyes closed, picturing Jean just an inch away from him. Out of reach, but there. Alive, chest rising and falling peacefully....

"_AHahh!_" Armin shot up, clutching his aching chest and panting wildly, sliding backwards until he banged into the headboard. 

The crack of glass, a thundering _roll_ of... of _something_, and the crunch of... **bone**. 

He hugged himself with his own arms, scratching at his skin up and down, up and down, trying to get rid of the sensation. What he he seen? What was that _dream_? 

"Are you alright, Armin?"

"...Just a... a nightmare, Sina." Armin rasped, swallowing hard, over and over again trying to get the streaky, swollen feeling in his throat to go away. 

His eyes flicked up to Jean's painting, "The Struggle", and was suddenly enveloped by the fear again. The painting... was _that_ what brought Jean to him? His dream, had it been how..._?_

"S-Sina, who..? Th-there was someone who, who _wanted_ thi-is painting of Jean's, this... painting!" 

Armin scrambled out of bed in the dark, reaching up and _yanking_ the medium sized canvas off the wall and throwing it to the ground. 

"I have one caller in memory which inquired about the only painting in the room you're currently in; The Struggle, by the name of Annie Leonhart."

"Call her and--...No. _No,_ never mind. Never mind." Armin inhaled, exhaled, and inhaled again. Repeat. 

"Okay! Are you sure you're feeling well, Armin?"

Armin sighed, nodding despite knowing Sina couldn't see. His eyes started to adjust to the light, calming him with every new shape he was able to make out in the dark. 

How awful was it of him, to throw down Jean's favorite painting, and perhaps the one thing tethering Jean to this world? "Hopefully, you forgive me Jean." He mumbled, bending down to pick it up again.

"_Oh_!" Armin nearly dropped it again, spotting a faded image of Jean appear in the body-length mirror attached to their bedroom door. 

"_I miss you... so much...._"

  
"...I'm sorry, Jean. I'll fix this, I swear." Armin whispered, refusing to frown as Jean's image faded away completely. 

He had no delusions of being truly with Jean again, but he knew one way to make whatever it was they had **stronger**.

Armin came into work today as he normally would, with the small exception of changing _one_ variable in the newest test his floor team was responsible for testing today. It was an innocent flaw, and a _necessary_ sacrifice. 

"What's... what's going on with the machines?" Moblit muttered, squinting at the small dancing sparks of white electricity coming off them at the edges. 

The machines were in a ring, and eventually there would be enough of them at enough _power_ to _theoretically_ create a dimensional hopping escalator to anywhere. 

One ring sparked, causing another to, which caused it to get bigger, and brighter....

"Did someone turn up the voltage? Anyone?" Dr. Zoe shouted, looking around the room at all of their cross colleagues.

Armin kept up a fantastic facade, his usual calculating face on display for all as they each hurriedly scribbled down their observations. 

_Pop!_

The dancing lights all fizzled, and one by one the machines each powered down. 

"Damn...." Armin muttered, and soon his team members all mimicked his disappointment. 

"Another failure just keeps us going in the right direction, alright? Alright?" Moblit's forced optimism was an uncommon sight, and Armin wanted to compliment him on his good intuition, but refrained. 

"Okay, I, I think I'm gonna take one of these home with me tonight." Armin mocked a frustrated sigh, stepping forward to examine one of the powered down boxes. They weren't much bigger than a portable cooler-- and he knew he could lift them on his own. 

"What? You can't be serious--"

"Oh, I am! Look, if I'm gonna be forced to take more vacation time, I'm gonna squeeze in as much important work in between as I can. Something went _wrong_ here," Armin gently ran his hand over the machine, like it were a fragile animal. "I have to try figuring out what before tomorrow, otherwise it'll just--! Drive me crazy...." 

"Can we all take one home the--"   
"_No_!" Armin snapped, eyes full and wide, only the slight crinkly of his forehead indicating how he really felt. For a moment his heart raced, worried that he'd inadvertently sabotaged his project much worse than planned simply at the thought of everyone on his floor getting their hands in them. 

"Don't worry, _I'll fix it_."

"Jean, I'm home!" Armin announced, unable to hide the giddiness in his voice as he carried the machine through the front door. Butterflies assaulted his ribs, and there was a tenderness in his face from all the smiling he'd done on the way home. 

He couldn't help it; Tonight was the night he would bring Jean's spirit close enough they could touch. It wouldn't the the physical, solid kind, but it would be warm, like the radiant heat from a fire. Or perhaps like a cool, gentle breeze out on the sea....

Armin's fingers _shook_ as he placed the machine down next to their bedroom door, but he didn't hesitate to re-calibrate and flip the switch; Giving it life. The gentle hum of electricity had all the hairs on Armin's skin stand up, and it silenced the butterflies in his body, wherever they may be.

"Jean," Armin began excitedly, "This is... _this will fix everything_." He knew it would. And it was worth it. It was worth it. 

Pressure began to build in the room, and Armin closed his eyes momentarily to get his bearings. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

...

Armin opened his eyes, a burning sensation behind them. Jean was right there in front of him, in the mirror, staring at him! The happiness Armin felt could make him cry, but the pressure built, and the humming got _louder_, and his head, god his **head**.

Whole body shaking, Armin struggled to lift a hand to his head, wincing. Hot. It was hot, hot, it was getting so hot-- and wet.

Blood. Blood poured out of Armin's mouth, "_Owhh..... fffhhmmn...._!" If he could scream, he would. 

He looked back up at the mirror, horrified as he saw what was beginning to happen to him. 

The ground shook, and the pounding in his head became a _maddening _thunder.

Armin whined and shoved his fingers in his mouth, feeling the loosening of his teeth as his hot gums blistered and softened, coming undone, undone, _gone_.

He looked back to the mirror with squinting eyes, rapidly blinking away the blood and tears to see Jean's face.

The glass of the mirror shattered, fragmenting Jean's face, contorting it, _ruining it_, **hiding**

"Y--_you're_..." Armin spat out most of his teeth, _wretching, sobbing,_ hands shaking and scraping at the floorboard. 

_ _

_This was for Jean this was for Jean this was supposed to be** Jean**_

_ **"You're... not--"** _

**Author's Note:**

> You may notice something familiar about the set up, and if you did, CONGRATULATIONS! This is all very loosely based around the "Fringe" episode named 6B. If you like spooky sci-fi stuff that's serious, definitely check that show out. As of writing this, they took it off Netflix. Again. But it's 5 seasons of sci-fi spookum mysterious goodness. 
> 
> Would REALLY love feedback on this one, as it's one of the 2 prompts I had intense passion and steam for. The rest are all good too and I love them, but this one. Oh baby. Thanks for reading!


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